


Mrs. Meister

by Dancingsalome



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 04:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12225840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancingsalome/pseuds/Dancingsalome
Summary: She wakes up in pain, not knowing who she is. And the man who says he is her husband, only fills her with fear.





	Mrs. Meister

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/gifts).



She woke up to a world filled with pain. An encompassing, white-hot roaring pain, which only after an eternity receded a point where she could identify her head as being the target. Another eternity passed and she could hear a voice she didn't recognise, calling out a name she did not know.

“Mrs. Meister? Are you awake, Mrs. Meister?”

It hurt to open her eyes, and when she succeeded she only saw a shapeless form hovering in front of her. She blinked, and it pulled together to become an elderly man with a round face and sparse white hair. He beamed at her.

“There you are, Mrs. Meister."

“Who?”

Her own voice sounded unfamiliar as if she had never heard it before. The bed she was laying in, the large bedroom around her, all of it was new to her. But then, she realised, she knew nothing at all. It was as if she had sprung into existence mere moments ago. When she looked around she saw the sun was shining through the windows, and outside she could see trees burning in all the colours of autumn. That, at least, was something she knew; what autumn looked like. She turned back to the man at her bedside and saw there was another man standing behind him, both of them complete strangers to her. He was a younger man than the first one, but not young; in his fifties perhaps, with a handsome bearded face and greying hair swept back from a high forehead. Hooded hazel eyes regarded her with keen analytical interest, and she shuddered.

The older man spoke to her again.

“My name is Doctor Boxton. And you are Elizabeth Meister. I know you don’t remember this, or anything else, right now. You have been in a car accident where you suffered a serious head injury. Your memories have been affected.”

She sat up, her head throbbed, and she felt dizzy. Something had happened to her that was clear.

“Why am I not in a hospital?”

Doctor Boxton exchanged a glance with the other man, who spoke for the first time, in a deep educated voice.

“But you have been in hospital, dear, only you don’t remember it. The accident was several weeks ago, and we agreed it would be better for you to come home in the hope it would ground you.”

He made a gesture to encompass the room and beyond, and Doctor Boxton continued;

“Your memory loss is severe and has affected both your short and long time memories. We hope being in a familiar place will at least put a stop to those short time memory lapses.”

“But this isn’t my home! I have never been here before!” Panic rose inside her and she turned to the other man. “And who are you?”

He looked hurt for a second, then he smiled. “I’m your husband.”

“I’m not married!”

“But you are. I know you don’t remember, but trust me, you are my wife.”

She shook her head in denial; it didn’t feel right, but then everything felt wrong and frightening. Breathing hard she fought to suppress her alarm. She didn't know these men, but they seemed to know her. Silently she repeated the name she had been given; Elisabeth Meister. It didn’t feel like her’s, but it felt nice to think of herself as someone with a name, and she accepted it.

“And what are you called?”

“Roland Meister.”

His name was as unfamiliar as everything else. The headache had sunk back to a low murmur, but she felt tired and confused.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know you. I know nothing.”

Doctor Boxton handed her a glass and a white pill.

“For your headache. And don’t worry, Mrs. Meister. Why don’t you rest a little? We will leave you in peace, and when you feel up to it, we will do our best to answer all your questions. Everything will be fine.”

Elizabeth allowed herself to be soothed, and when the men left the room, she slept a little. When she woke up, her surroundings still felt strange and new to her, but she felt rested, and the headache was gone. The first thing she did was to sit down at the dressing table to look into the mirror. She saw a woman around thirty, with long coppery red hair. The shade took her by surprise, but the weight of the hair down her back felt familiar. The first thing since she woke up she felt she recognised. Elizabeth closed her eyes and let her hands rake through her hair, on their own accord her fingers twisted the strands and coiled it into a chignon at the nape of her neck. Without hesitation she secured it with several hairpins, then she turned her head to see how it looked, feeling satisfied she knew her hair, at least. But the rest of her appearance was still that of a stranger. A smooth oval of a face with high cheekbones, and, perhaps, a noose which was a trifle long, but she thought it was handsome enough. Elizabeth nodded to her mirror image and decided she could grow to like herself. Now she needed to learn more of who she was.

Next she looked through the drawers, and found make-up which suited her colouring, some jewellery, underwear and stockings, but nothing which could provide her with any clues of her identity. Slowly she looked through the room. It was spacious and comfortably furnished. In one wardrobe she found clothes which fitted her, the other one contained men’s clothes. There was a whiff of cologne and cigar smoke from them, and she quickly shut the door, feeling disturbed. To calm herself, she looked out through the window. The room was on the second floor of what seemed to be a large and old house, standing isolated from other houses. Elizabeth could see no other buildings from the window, only a large garden, and beyond it nothing but trees.

But staring at the view gave her no answers, and she realised she needed to leave the room. It frightened her a little; the bedroom was the only thing she knew in this world, but after a deep breath she ventured out. Elizabeth slowly made her way through a corridor which widened into a hallway and a staircase. Walking downstairs she heard the murmur of voices from an open door. In a pleasant sitting room she found Doctor Boxton and the man she apparently was married to. They looked up from their drinks and conversations, both greeting her with a smile.

“Do you feel better now?” Doctor Boxton asked, and after feeling her pulse and forehead, seemed satisfied with her affirmation.

“Come,” the other man, Roland motioned to her to sit down. “I have collected a few of your things. I could tell you all this, but perhaps it would feel better if you looked at them yourself.”

He showed her a few boxes and a stack of photo album on the coffee table. Elizabeth sat down and opened one box, finding it filled with papers. She sorted through them; there was a birth certificate and grades, giving her a maiden name; Shaw. The surname felt as strange to her as Meister did. There were a lot of grades, all excellent, ending with degrees in a dizzying amount of subjects. There were also papers telling her she was a scientist, employed at Cambridge. Nothing sparked any recognition in her, but Elizabeth found with relief she knew what Cambridge was.

“I’m intelligent then?” She said it half in jest, because at the moment she didn’t feel very smart at all, but Roland smiled again.

“Very. You are the most brilliant woman I have ever met.”

The only thing left was a marriage certificate, and Elizabeth's hands shook a little when she held it. At first the date told her nothing, but then the Doctor kindly informed her which day this day was, and she realised she had been married for three years. She looked at her husband, thinking it must be true then, but it still felt complete unreal. Somehow he just didn’t seem like a man she would want to marry. Unease coiled in her stomach again, and to distract herself she turned to the other box, finding several diaries and letters, most of them from her childhood and teens. She decided to pursue them at a later point and opened one of the photo albums instead. It was a another strange experience. She recognised no one on the pictures, apart from a red-headed girl, who, as she grew older as the album's progressed, Elizabeth could see was herself. Roland helpfully pointed out her parents and sister, but for her they were complete strangers, and she closed the album she was looking in with a snap. It was a terrible sensation not being able to feel anything when looking at people who were her family and who she must love.

“Are my parents still alive?”

“Oh yes. They have been terribly worried for you, and they visited the hospital several times. Do you want to phone them?”

“I don’t know. Yes.”

She reached for the telephone standing on a side table and stopped. “I don’t know their phone number.”

Her husband scribbled it down on a note and handed it to her. Elizabeth dialled the number, her fingers shaking and her voice wavered when a female voice answered and she explained who she was.

“Elizabeth?” The voice cut her off before she had finished her sentence. “Elizabeth, darling, how lovely to hear your voice. How are you feeling?”

The voice prattled on, warm and inquisitive. Elizabeth blinked away tears, unable to answer. This woman’s voice meant nothing to her, and she felt it had been a horrible mistake to call. Roland gently took the telephone from her and ended the call with apologies and reassurances.

“I’m so sorry, it was so difficult,” he told Elizabeth. “It must be very hard for you. But if you want her to come and visit- want anyone to come, it is possible.”

“No,“ Elizabeth answered quickly. “At least not yet.”

If it had been hard hearing a voice she didn’t know, then the thought of seeing more people she ought to recognise, felt even worse.

“It’s important”, Doctor Boxton told her. “To not overtax yourself now. Your memory will most likely come back soon, and it may happen very abruptly. The best would be if you take it slow and only do things you enjoy. Don’t strain yourself in trying to remember- thinking too much about it may be counterproductive, even if it feels like you want to. A nurse have been engaged and will arrive tomorrow, and I will check in on you every other day.”

He waved away Elizabeth's protest she felt perfectly fine.

“Regardless, it will be best if there is someone to keep you company at all times. There may be unforeseen consequences, and better be safe than sorry, eh?”

Then he took his leave, leaving Elizabeth alone with her husband. She felt suddenly apprehensive- for some reason she felt a little afraid, though the man in the chair opposite her’s seemed perfectly pleasant. She could still not shake a feeling he would suddenly change his demeanour, though why, she could not tell. After a moment’s strained silence she spoke.

“And what do you do?”

“I’m a professor in history. In Cambridge.”

“Oh. Is that where we met?”

“Yes.”

She hesitated a little. “I noticed your wardrobe in the bedroom. I guess- I assume, we-”

“Usually share a bedroom, yes. But for the moment I will sleep in the guest room. I think it would be for the best, don’t you?”

Relief flooded her, and she relaxed a little.

“Yes. Absolutely!”

There was another silence before he stood up.

“Perhaps you want to see your office?"

“I have an office here?”

“Of course. For your private research.”

He brought her to the back of the house, and opened a door to a large room, lined with bookshelves, a large desk, and several cabinets. Elizabeth looked around in amazement.

“This is all mine?”

He nodded.

“Yes, this is all yours. I find it easier to keep my research in Cambridge. This belongs solely to you.”

There was another uncomfortable pause before he asked if she would like to be alone to explore. Elizabeth said yes with a haste she felt was borderline rude, but the relief she felt when he left was palatable, and the air much easier to breathe. The office, her office, was immensely interesting. Elizabeth poured over the notes she found on the desk, but only after she had read for a while an idea struck her, and she took a pen and paper and wrote down a few words. Her hand-writing was identical to the one note, further confirming this was really her room, and her experiments.

In the days and weeks which followed, Elizabeth settled down somewhat. It was a strange and troubling existence, not remembering your past, and she took refuge in her work. In her office she felt at home, and though her memories stubbornly stayed away, after examining her notes, Elizabeth found she could continue with her work, and there, if not anywhere else, she made steady progress. To her immense relief she found that what she had once learned was still intact. She only had to look at a book to remember its content, and her research flowed near interrupted by her memory loss. It was very disconcerting to have this vast knowledge without the memory of how she had gained it, but she was very grateful for it.

Apart from her amnesia, she felt recovered; the only lingering physical ailment was a tendency to headaches if she worked too long hours. The nurse, a pleasant woman called Anderson, didn’t feel strictly necessary in Elizabeth's opinion, but it was also a comfort to have someone around who hadn’t known her before her accident. Nurse Anderson was an intelligent and inquisitive woman, and as she had few duties apart from making sure Elizabeth rested regularly, she soon also functioned as a laboratory assistant, and in that capacity, if not as a nurse, Elizabeth found her useful.

It was difficult to follow her doctor's order and not fret over her memory loss. If she could forget it for when her work absorbed her, it came back in full force as soon as she paused. Elizabeth did what she could, creating routines and habits which at least added a thin layer of familiarity to her life. The isolation of the house didn’t bother her; the thought of meeting people who would know here while they were strangers to her, did not feel tempting. But though the house was pleasant, and the surroundings beautiful, Elizabeth did not feel at home. Though she didn’t know her own taste anymore, she could see nothing in the house which she found appealing, and she could only conclude she must be a very different woman with her memory intact. Still, she could live with it, hoping everything would make sense again when her memories returned.

But Elizabeth could cope with living in a house which didn’t feel like a home, and her work ethic and discipline also helped her to keep spirits up, and not succumb to brooding. What she found hardest, was the presence of her husband. She struggled to imagine falling in love and marry him, despite all the evidence she had. Not that he wasn’t attractive, and she soon found he possessed a formidable intellect, but there was something which didn’t feel right about him. There were no reasons to why she should feel so; he was unfailingly polite and kind. And yet. Sometimes when he looked at her, Elizabeth glimpsed something cold and analytical, as if he was studying her. The impression only lasted for a second, but it disturbed her. More and more she felt like she was under observation, and never completely left alone. There was a feeling her notes and work was checked, even if nothing looked like it had been disturbed. Whenever he was close to her, Elizabeth felt an unease which gradually grew until she realised she was afraid of him.There was no rational thinking behind this feeling, but it was there and it did not abate over time. Elizabeth locked her bedroom door at night though no one had ever tried to enter it. With no reason behind her feelings, Elizabeth didn’t mention them to anyone. It must be something stemming from her amnesia, but it did not make it easier. She woke from dreams every night, dreams she felt was vivid and important, but which she forgotten as soon as she was fully awake. One night she woke up to her own scream, sitting up in bed as her husband entered the room and turned on the light. Elizabeth stared at him.

“The Doctor! I want the Doctor!”

“Calm down. I will phone Doctor Boxton.”

But Elizabeth shook her head. “No, not him. I mean the Doctor.”

She looked up at him, trying to convey how important it was to her.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, dear. There is no other doctor.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth to explain, but the dream had slipped away, only leaving her with the impression of someone who made her feel safe, someone with white hair and a sarcastic voice.

“I’m sorry. It was such a vivid dream; for a moment it felt real.”

He took her hand, his fingers far too cool against her overheated skin.

“I think it’s a good sign, actually. If it felt so real to you, perhaps it was a real memory trying to surface. Your childhood doctor, perhaps.”

“Do you think so?”

“I think it is very likely. You’ll see, soon you will remember more.”

He sounded so certain, and Elizabeth allowed herself to calm down. Not until he had left the room did Elizabeth, realise he had come into her room, despite her locked door.

Her memories came back two days later. Nurse Anderson had the afternoon off, and Elizabeth was in the sitting room. She was drinking a cup of tea and leafing through her work notes from the previous day. When someone unexpectedly entered, she looked up and was struck with a sense of déjà vu, so strong it made her head spin. Liz gasped, as her whole life came back to her, cascading through her mind. She was whole again, and she remembered.

She had been drinking tea, at home, very much like she was doing now, when a man came in, though she had heard no one come into her apartment. He was a stranger, but she knew who he was. The Brigadier had took his time to personally provide her with a file of an enemy of the Doctor, another Time Lord known as the Master. The Brigadier had warned her about him, telling her the Master could go after anyone the Doctor knew. Liz had not taken it truly seriously; her time with the Doctor had been brief after all, but she had read the file carefully, and she recognised the Master as soon as she saw him.

“Miss Shaw? If I could trouble you to come with me, please.”

The politeness was belied by the gun he held in his hand, and then he had pulled out something else, something small, from his pocket, and then-. And then Liz couldn’t remember properly. The last weeks were suddenly only a haze, the sense of dizziness grew, and for a moment Liz thought she would faint, before the world righted itself again.

The Master watched her with interest.

“I imagine you experience a reversed memory loss right now. You have experienced this moment twice before, and the human mind seems to have trouble grasping memory loops. I think you will find your memory works perfectly again, up until the day we first met. I’m afraid you will find the time period after permanently blurred.

“Twice?” Liz blinked and shook her head. She had a very strong sense she had said it before, only the last time she had been in her bedroom. Or was it the garden?

“You wiped my memories? Why?”

The Master sat down opposite her.

“As an experiment.”

He removed the same small device from his pocket as he had when they first met. It looked innocent enough, a square shape in made from some kind of grey metallic, with a few buttons along one side, but Liz shuddered violently when she saw it.

“I developed this instrument to provoke amnesia, and I needed to test it out. You, my dear Miss Shaw, was the obvious candidate to experiment on.”

“Why?”

“Oh; your friendship with the Doctor is one reason. You have been missing for nearly four months now, and his efforts to find you have grown rather frantic.”

The Master smiled, a gleam of malicious glee in his eyes.

“At least he tried to find you when it was clear you hadn’t succumbed to those mysterious fires which destroyed both your home and your office. And I don’t think he has realised those fires conveniently hid how many of your personal effects which had been taken away.”

“You experiment on me to hurt the Doctor?”

“In part; yes. But also because you are brilliant, for being a human. It’s been interesting to create a sham life for you and see how you took to it, but it would have been a waste doing it to someone who wasn’t useful. And you, my dear, have a valuable brain. I’ve been studying your work, and with just a few tweaks your research can be used for my gain. And that was my idea from the very beginning; to create a team of scientist with their memories swiped clean, ready to work for me. Hypnosis is fine to create foot soldiers, but it also tend to dull the brain.”

“But it failed, didn’t it? The amnesia isn’t permanent.”

The Master made a small grimace of annoyance.

“Indeed. No matter what I do, the effect only lasts for five or six weeks. As an experiment, this is a failure. An interesting failure, but something I won’t continue working on.”

Liz poured herself another cup of tea. Somehow it felt important to not show the Master how frightened she was. And looking at this with an analytical mind, as a scientist, what he had told her was interesting.

“I see. It must be far too time consuming to create fake backgrounds if you would have to re-do them over and over again. I assume the people I have met here are your employees?”

He gave her an appreciative glance.

“The good Doctor Boxton, and the woman who you thought were your mother are my people. The nurse, however, think you suffer from real amnesia. She’ll be dismissed now, just as her predecessors have, without ever knowing the truth.”

“I suppose it makes a twisted sense. But why pretend you were my husband?”

He shrugged.

“It was unnecessary, I admit, but it was amusing. For some reasons emotional memories aren’t fully swiped, and you regard me with more fear and mistrust for every time we repeat this. Your struggle to come to terms with your instincts, and what you perceived as reality has been most entertaining to watch.”

“And now?”

“Now? Well, I am most curious of the next stages of your current research, so for now you will continue. At least one more cycle of the memory swipe, I think, before you cease to be useful.”

It amazed Liz how she could continue to speak in a calm and measured voice.

“And then you will kill me.”

“Perhaps not.” The Master stood up and paced the room.

“It would be a pity to waste a brain like yours. You could work for me on your own free will, instead. I can provide you with all the funds and equipment you could wish for, and plenty of time left for your own special interests.”

As he spoke he came to stand right behind her armchair. Liz willed herself to look straight ahead, but when his hand came to rest on her shoulder, she almost couldn’t stop herself from trying to bolt. His thumb brushed over the nape of her neck, and an uncontrollable shiver went through her body.

“I could give you everything the Doctor couldn’t give you.” He leaned down to murmur into her ear. “Everything he wouldn’t give you. I can be very accommodating.”

“I will never work for you willingly.”

“What a shame.”

Suddenly he was in front of her, his hand closing around her throat again. Liz clawed at his hand, then she could feel the smooth surface of the memory swipe press against her temple.

“This, my dear Miss Shaw, will hurt.”

***

She woke up to a world filled with pain. An encompassing, white-hot roaring pain, which only after an eternity receded a point where she could identify her head as being the target. Another eternity passed and she could hear a voice she didn't recognise, calling out a name she did not know.

“Mrs. Meister? Are you awake, Mrs. Meister?”


End file.
